OFF FOR OREGON; CROSSING THE MISSOURI; ENCOUNTERING THE BUFFALO;
TROUBLES WITH THE INDIANS.
Ben Hardy was employed to help break in the team and for other
necessary preparations; also, if his father would consent, to make
the entire trip with them. Neither Ben, the Squire nor Kate knew
anything about oxen; but all realized that they must have a team.
A few days after the party at the Mulhall cabin, the trio
experimented in breaking in some cows to the yoke. Kate thought
Brindle and Star would make a capital team, and at the first attempt
succeeded in getting the yoke on Star--except that she broke away
from them and circled around the yard with her tongue out, bucking
and fiercely bellowing. Kate quickly climbed the fence in dismay,
wondering why gentle old Star should object to be yoked.
Finally getting both cows under the yoke just before dinner call,
Kate and her father went to the cabin while Ben started home for
lunch. Kate, the first one out after dinner, could hardly believe
her eyes. Star, yoked by them on the off side, stood on the near
side, while Brindle had changed places with her, and was on the off
side. Kate knew perfectly well that she had been yoked up last and
on the near side.
{38}
In her astonishment she at first overlooked the yoke hanging under
the necks of the cows instead of resting on top; they had turned the
yoke, and as a sailor might report such an incident--"the starboard
ox was on the larboard side, the larboard ox on the starboard side,
and the ox-yoke had left the hurricane deck and gone below." Squire
Mulhall could see the humor of the incident, but realized a very
serious side to it, as illustrating how little they knew about
outfitting for the great journey.
He ordered the attempt to break in a team discontinued for the time
being; and the next morning mounted Nell and rode off, ostensibly in
search of a team, though, as he afterwards said, with a notion to
look at the country north of the Iowa line. "But what's the use of
raising corn to burn in the stove to keep from freezing, or bacon as
fuel for racing steamboats?" While in Iowa he was asked if he knew a
man by the name of Pelton reported to live in the county from which
he had just come.
"Yes, but what of it?" was the Squire's laconic reply.
"Nothing," the stranger continued, "except he has been looking for
land to settle free negroes on, and the neighbors didn't like it."
Now for once in his life he had something to keep from Catherine, who
had told him what she had surmised--and in fact knew--Kate's secret,
although only through her motherly instinct to read signs often
plainer than words. Again Mulhall wavered; to tell {39} Catherine
what he had heard would be equivalent to telling Kate, the apple of
his eye. He could not bear the thought of losing her; in fact had
resolved never to go to Oregon unless Kate went along.
During the Squire's search for a trained team (labor lost, for there
were only here and there old, slow, broken-down or ill-matched oxen),
he heard of a missionary or itinerant preacher who represented that
he had been in Oregon. Mulhall eagerly took the track of this man
and followed it for days before overtaking him; but was well rewarded
by finding his new acquaintance a very intelligent, well-read man
with large experience in the Oregon Country--just the one he was
seeking.
But he had already been gone a week, was nearly a hundred and fifty
miles from home, and Catherine would soon become very uneasy about
him. The minister would probably also talk more about missionary
work than topics Mulhall was eager to discuss. So on the second day
arrangements were made for the two to go to the Mulhall home where
the missionary could rest from his labors, recuperate his worn-down
horse and confer at more length about outfitting for the trip to
Oregon.[1]
This was done, and following the counsel of the visitor, preparations
for the trip went on apace. The Squire purchased ten trim, well
developed five-year-old steers, not off the range but farm raised,
with two extras as a relief for lame or other temporarily {40} unfit
ones in the teams. In other matters the missionary's advice was
adopted, with the result that when completed Mulhall's outfit was
equal to any he afterwards saw on the plains, and far superior to the
vast majority of them.
Ben Hardy, whose mother hesitated but finally gave way to his
pleadings, was engaged to take charge of one of the teams. Mulhall
offered such liberal compensation that Ben's father also consented,
although the lad was still under age. The Squire knew that Ben would
be true to his interests, and thought of him not as the hired man,
but as one of the family; in fact, he promised Ben one of the teams
for his own when they arrived in Oregon.
Ben had a secret of his own about which Mulhall knew nothing. He and
the Shaeffer boys were friends, and no one suspected that Ben's
frequent visits to their home had any other attraction than a good
time with the boys; nor did they dream that "Bennie," as they called
him, had any thoughts about their sister. But mother Shaeffer had
detected more than mere friendship between Ben and Linda; and under
the circumstances developments were not likely to be long delayed.
Ben resolved to make a clean breast of it and know from Linda's
spoken words that she loved him and would await his return, or
possibly come to him; and firmly concluded not to go unless Linda
would consent. In this mood Ben boldly declared himself to Linda in
a scene that need not be described here. {41} Linda was a dutiful
girl and would have no secret from her mother. "I will go with you
now if mother will consent," she said between smiles and tears; "or
I'll wait until I can come to you." The thought of having Linda go
with him now had never entered Ben's mind until she suggested it,
subject to her mother's consent.
"I'll be true to you, Ben, to the end," she said and submitted
willingly to the sealing of the promise by a responsive kiss. "Come
tomorrow night, Ben, and we'll talk it over with mother;" and so they
parted.
Ben went home living in a new world, with increased confidence in the
future and a happiness never before experienced. This scene was
enacted a week before the start was to be made; and meanwhile Ben was
busy at the Mulhalls' from dawn to twilight. Two ox-teams, each with
two yoke of oxen, and a yoke of cows were used to haul fuel from a
distant woodland for the new owner of the farm, training the teams
and drivers to the road, as well as a token of good will.
Kate and her mother were busy preparing and cooking various articles
of food, while the Squire was laying in a stock of provisions, water
containers, tents and other necessities for a journey of more than
two thousand miles extending over a probable period of six months.
Mulhall had been warned that once across the Missouri River, he would
be in the Indian Country and unable to renew his {42} equipment
except from overloaded outfits, abandoned property, or by dealing
with the sharpers of the so-called trading posts, some of them
regular dens of thieves, often kept by renegade white men.
A mishap to one of the teams on the road detained Ben until long
after dark; and when he reached the Mulhall barn, the teams and all
the loose stock had still to be cared for. So he could not keep his
appointment with Linda; and it was near midnight when he crawled into
the hay mow to snatch a few hours of sleep before daybreak.
"I wonder why Ben didn't come to-night as he said he would?"; and in
spite of all efforts, Linda's voice betrayed her deep solicitude.
"I'll warrant he had good reasons," the mother responded; but Linda
could not be satisfied in her own mind. The great journey was to
begin the following Monday, and it was only seven days before the
start. Upon awaking Tuesday morning, Ben resolved that at all
hazards he would go to see Linda that day.
On his way to the Shaeffer home, conflicting thoughts ran through
Ben's mind. What would Mulhall say? What would his own mother and,
particularly Linda's mother, say? If she could go along, it would
enable them to make an earlier start in life; and each would be
entitled to a hundred and sixty acres of land from the Government
free, whereas in a year or two at most, neither could secure any
without purchase.
It was late Tuesday night when Ben left the Shaeffer {43} home after
a long visit with Linda. The mother did not positively forbid her
going now, but strongly advised against it; upon second thought Linda
herself began to doubt the advisability of such a move, though
willing to go and share the hardships with Ben if he thought best.
With tears that could not be restrained by either, they decided that
Ben had better go alone. Who can fathom the sacrifice of such a
decision or decide as to the wisdom of it? Once made, cheerfulness
returned, plans for the future were laid and sacred vows renewed; and
life opened to them anew.
The wagons were loaded and the tent set up well in advance, so the
start could be made early on the following Monday. When the time
came, Kate had saddled Nell, and Dick and Ned had been hitched to the
carriage for an hour; but the start was delayed, and Squire Mulhall
remained in the cabin. At length, after consulting with Ben, the
conclusion was reached that the ox-teams should go ahead and the
carriage would follow later.
Catherine assumed a bold, cheerful attitude while the preparations
were being made, and concealed her pent-up grief at leaving. Several
of her children were born in the cabin, and one of them had died in
it. She had passed many happy hours within its humble walls, and
tender memories came vividly to mind. Even Mulhall was moved with
emotion as never before, and determined to wait quietly until
Catherine recovered her composure.
{44}
No one without the experience of parting with one can realize the
deep feeling of affection for the home, even if it is only a cabin.
The love of a lowly dwelling is often more intense than that of a
princely palace, for a cabin becomes a part of one's self. No wonder
that the good housewife should shed tears of regret upon parting with
the home she had loved so well and so long.
After all the neighbors who came to bid Godspeed to the Mulhalls had
left, Catherine quietly came out of the cabin, entered the carriage
and drove in the track of the ox-teams without looking back, shedding
a tear or making any sign of distress. The struggle was ended and
the die cast, although the sacrifice required supreme courage.
In spite of all their efforts, Kate and the two younger sisters were
unable to drive the loose stock fast enough to keep up with the
ox-team, and finally lost one cow in the brush. Riding forward to
overtake Ben and have him make an early camp, Kate had a foretaste of
what was ahead of them on the journey.
Ben found a convenient barnyard and plenty of feed for the cattle,
and a cheerful grass plat for the camp. He quickly had the tent up,
fire in the stove and the oxen fed when the carriage and Kate arrived
with the loose stock. Whoever has had the experience of a good camp
under favorable conditions will realize the cheerful atmosphere that
enlivens the spirits of all; the bracing air, the novelty and keen
{45} appetites due to the exertion of the journey, combined to bring
joy and contentment.
They were only eight miles from the old home; but the start had been
made, and all considered it a good distance for the first day. Early
in the calm, warm mid-April evening, the sharp notes of the bob white
quail rang in the ears of the campers, soon followed by the shrill
whistle of the whippoorwill in the near-by meadow. Millions of
fireflies, with their mysterious alternating of light and darkness,
were floating in the air. Contentment reigned supreme in the camp,
and care for the morrow was soon forgotten in peaceful slumber.
Difficulties and trials beset the early part of every trip like the
Mulhalls'. In the deep, sticky Missouri mud, a well trained team
drawing a light load could flounder through with great exertions; but
with half-trained oxen and a heavy load it was frequently necessary
to double the teams, or lighten the loads and make a second trip.
Walking alongside his wagon or prying up a wheel deeply sunk in the
mire, Ben became bespattered with mud from head to foot, but did not
lose patience. The cows would not keep in the road, often compelling
Kate to dismount and go after them on foot. Neither would swear,
though both at times felt like doing so; but when night came, they
laughed off their troubles in the camp.
They had been acquainted for years, but neither had fully measured
the other until now. "I golly, {46} Kate, it's rough driving the
cows, isn't it?" "Yes; but what about the teams? I think you catch
it worse than I do." Their mutual trials drew them closer together;
and each had unlimited faith in the other.
Squire Mulhall had great confidence in Ben when he engaged him for
the trip, but every day his admiration for the lad increased as
better acquaintance brought out his sterling character. Thoughts of
Ben for a son-in-law flitted across his mind, and would involuntarily
return; but he kept it to himself--the second secret from Catherine.
Finally, after a long struggle encountering mud, rain, wind-storms
and quicksand, the Mulhall outfit arrived on the high bluffs
overlooking the Missouri and the great encampment of emigrants.
Hundreds of tents near the ferry landing and extending back from the
river revealed the magnitude of the great western movement of the
50's. Squire Mulhall could not do otherwise than camp with the
motley throng, and turned the ox-teams out to graze with several
thousands of other stock in the river bottoms.
Looking around to size up the situation, he found people there from
several States, of all conditions in life and with nearly as varied
outfits as there were camps--scarcely any two alike. Here was one
bound, like himself, for Oregon; right alongside, another emigrating
to California; next a group of Mormons going to Salt Lake--all
waiting their turn to be crossed over the Missouri by the two scows
called a ferry.
{47}
The throng consisted of all ages from the very old to the infant in
arms, and were in various moods. Near-by would be a religious
meeting with singing, praying and preaching; others were engaged in
pitching quoits, card playing or foot racing--anything to dispel the
tedium incident to the long delay on the Iowa side of the river.
Some of these people had been camping there fully two weeks, waiting
for their numbers to be called, and might be obliged to remain
several days more. A brisk trade in "turns" naturally resulted; in
one case fifty dollars was paid to entitle the purchaser to immediate
crossing.
Open gambling was seen in many places, and a great crowd congregated
around a race-track. In a stroll of a couple of hours Mulhall
noticed a number of intoxicated men, though not many were boisterous;
the intoxicants evidently came from the camps. Here, as back in
Missouri, whisky was pure but cheap (averaging 25c a gallon), and no
regulation as to sale or disposal.
One corner of the encampment was particularly clean and orderly; no
litter of papers or cast-off articles of any kind were in sight, and
there was an entire absence of gambling, card playing or other
amusements. Two of the emigrants in peculiar garb were digging a pit
in which to bury rubbish. The men were usually either reading
well-worn Bibles, writing or amusing the children, while the women
were generally caring for the camp, sewing or knitting; one was
weaving cloth on a hand-loom, and {48} another spinning yarn on an
old-time wheel, the sharp tones of the spindle vibrating in the air.
It was like part of a long established and law-abiding eastern
community transplanted to the edge of civilization. A brief
conversation disclosed that these campers were from a Methodist
settlement in central Indiana, and that their pastor, though
temporarily holding service at a near-by village, was traveling with
them. Mulhall thanked them for the invitation to attend the evening
meeting and continued his stroll, intending to do so if Catherine and
Kate would accompany him.
The next group of camps visited presented a very different
appearance. More than half of the party, which was bound for the
Mormon settlement at Salt Lake City, had recently arrived from
Europe. There were very few men; the greater part were women who
huddled in tents almost devoid of camp conveniences, while a number
of their ragged and dirty-faced children were playing in the vicinity.
Men and women alike showed a sober mien; here and there a man would
be reading a Bible, and Mulhall noticed one reading the Book of
Mormon. Like the Methodists, they held religious services every
evening. There were very few wagons for so large a party, making the
problem of their transportation unusually difficult. In a corner of
the encampment were a number of hand-carts which a portion of those
belonging to this camp intended to use in crossing the plains; and
one man with a {49} wheelbarrow completed the picturesque assemblage.
With the invitation in mind, the Squire and Catherine prepared to
attend the Methodist meeting that same evening. Kate said, "Ben,
let's go, too."
"I golly, Kate, that's just what I was going to say," Ben replied.
So all dressed in their best and walked toward the Methodist camp,
for which they had started, along a path which led near the Mormon
part of the encampment.
Seeing the people gathering for religious services Mulhall, more out
of curiosity than otherwise, suggested that they stop and listen for
awhile. Catherine had only a faint idea of what "Mormon" meant; but
held a deep prejudice against them, and said that she preferred to
attend what she considered a real religious meeting. But as the rest
of the party desired to hear the Mormons, Catherine consented, and
all took seats among those provided for strangers.
The minister, a burly figure somewhat uncouth but evidently sincere,
opened the meeting by reading a chapter from the Old Testament; he
took his text from the chapter read, and to their surprise preached a
real orthodox sermon, differing little from what they had often heard
from itinerant Methodist preachers passing through their
neighborhood. On the way back to their camp Mulhall berated himself
for not attending the Methodist meeting as originally intended; he
resolved to do so the next evening, and all the others said they
would accompany him.
True to the resolution, preparations were made to {50} go as the next
evening approached. Ben had left early in the morning to look after
their cattle running at large in the Missouri bottoms with thousands
of others belonging to the numerous camps, and at dusk had not
returned. Three of the oxen could not be found; whether they had
strayed off on their own account or had been stolen he could not
tell, but strongly suspected the latter. He did not return until
dark and then was tired and hungry; Kate said she wouldn't go until
Ben had dinner, and her mother was of the same mind.
Mulhall lost interest in the meeting when Ben came with the news; the
loss of three of his best oxen would be very serious, and he was then
in no mood to think of anything else. Early the next morning Kate
saddled Nell and Ben borrowed a saddle for Ned; after an early
breakfast the two mounted and started down the wide river bottom to
look for the strays. Toward the end of nearly an all-day search they
were found about seven miles from camp; but from that time on either
Ben or the new hired man always stayed out with the herd.
A few mornings after the night watch had been inaugurated Ben, having
had Dick for a bedfellow the night before, remarked, "I golly, I
snuggled up close to his back and slept as warm as wool." That was
the beginning, for him, of an experience shared by many pioneers,
including the author; and is the origin of the term "bedfellow of the
ox."
A few evenings later, when everything was still and {51} calm, and
not a breath of air stirring, Mulhall, while sitting in front of his
camp, heard a number of voices in the distance. The sound came from
the direction of the Methodist camp; he thought he caught a word or
two, but was not sure.
Just then a gentleman passing by asked, "Do you hear the Methodists?"
"Is that noise of voices we hear the Methodists?" Mulhall asked.
"Yes, they have been going on that way for an hour," answered the
stranger, who passed on and disappeared from sight.
Kate and Catherine had both retired for the night, but Mulhall
resolved to go and hear what they were saying and see what they were
doing. He walked briskly in the direction of the sound, sure enough,
it was a "Methodist awakening," as the participants expressed it.
The reader would not doubt this part of the narrative if he had ever
attended a meeting of the "shouting Methodists" of Indiana in early
days, particularly after a sermon where endless punishment was
preached for unbelievers. Now the Squire saw some of the men and
women who a few days before were sedate in their industrious camp,
shouting and violently gesticulating; some were fairly dancing in an
ecstasy of joy, others praying or lying down as if in a trance or
stupor.
When, after waiting three weeks, Mulhall's turn came to cross the
river, he concluded to send one team and wagon ahead with the tent
and cooking outfit; {52} Ben and Kate went along with it to establish
and prepare the camp for the remainder of the party. About
mid-stream the boat upset. The heavy running-gear of the wagon
immediately sank out of sight; but the bed, though partly submerged,
and with Ben and Kate in it, continued to float, though it was being
carried away from the scene of the mishap by the strong current.
Sometimes the outfit would sink to near the top of the cover, and in
another moment the whirl of the turbulent current would leave the
greater part of it visible again. Ben managed to remove the cover
that had entrapped them, so they were not in immediate danger of
drowning; he at once began throwing heavy things overboard, the stove
first and then whatever else could be found to lighten the load.
At a bend of the river in sight from the crossing, the bed grounded
on a sand-bar projecting upstream from the head of an island, and
swung around broadside, affording the imprisoned occupants a safe
landing. Seeing their peril, two Indians plunged fearlessly into the
Missouri, and swam out to the rescue; others immediately followed in
canoes, and soon landed both of them safely on the west side of the
great river. Yet we sometimes hear thoughtless people say, "there
are no good Indians but dead Indians!"
Kate returned to the Iowa side by the next boat, but Ben remained
awhile longer on the west side to care for the team that had swam
across. One wagon, {53} the yokes, chains and a considerable part of
the outfit had been lost. After arranging for the care of the team,
Ben crossed back about dark to rejoin the remainder of the party
still waiting there, and to consult with the Squire.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: NEAR CATASTROPHE IN CROSSING THE MISSOURI]
Illustrating a scene witnessed by the author and many other Pioneers
to the Oregon Country. The sinking of the wagon, endangering the
life of Kate Mulhall, the heroine of this story, and her rescue by
Ben Hardy, as described on the opposite page, make a stirring
incident of overland travel in the early 50s. An interesting
reference to this "near catastrophe" a half century later, will be
found on page 231.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: TYPICAL EMIGRANT OUTFIT ON THE OREGON TRAIL]
"Prairie schooner" unit of a line made up of vehicles drawn by
horses, mules, oxen or cows, with three yoke of oxen (driven by a man
walking along the left-hand side of the farther yoke), followed by
the captain of the train and protected by an armed guard at the rear.
Many an outfit like this one starting out in good condition was
reduced to the situation illustrated in the drawing on page 75 before
the end of the long journey.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
At the time of the accident, Catherine was at the camp and knew
nothing about it until told by Kate herself; then she fell upon her
knees to offer thanks for the rescue of her daughter. When told that
Kate had been saved by Ben's courage and cool-headed action, she gave
way to tears of joy and gratitude, and exclaimed, "Where is he?
Where is he, the dear, dear boy?" When he arrived, mother Mulhall
kissed him again and again; even the Squire had difficulty in
controlling his emotions, while Kate seemed dazed and said little.
Of course the deep gloom in the camp was accompanied by rejoicing
that there had been no loss of life.
The emigrants flocked around to praise Ben's act of bravery; but he
made light of it, saying anybody but a coward would have done the
same, and he wasn't entitled to any special praise. That evening an
elderly Quaker with his wife and daughter came to Mulhall's camp.
"We came to see thee," he said, "to join in praise to God for his
mercy in restoring thy son and daughter to thee; and further to tell
thee the Spirit moves us to proffer aid to enable thee to repair thy
loss." The Squire was deeply impressed with the evident sincerity of
the man, and felt to some extent relieved {54} from the feeling of
depression he had been striving to dispel.
Catherine was unable to conceal her emotion or control herself; the
shock upon the poor woman's nerves had been too great. Kate arose
from a cot to assure her mother that she would be all right again in
a little while, but seemingly without effect until the Quaker lady's
sympathetic words wrought a change of promised relief.
One of the ferrymen came into the camp and witnessed the scene of the
Quakers striving to alleviate Catherine's anguish. The two women
were about the same age; and the daughter of the Quaker family had
been a great comfort to Kate in her distress. Grasping the
situation, and seeing that he could do nothing at the moment, the
ferryman soon withdrew, beckoning Mulhall to follow him outside.
"I come," he said, "to tell you we think we ought to replace your
wagon and outfit, and will do so to-morrow. A number of parties who
have concluded not to go any farther will sell their wagons and
outfits at a reasonable price. Come and see us in the morning."
At the moment Mulhall was more concerned about his wife than over the
loss of a part of the outfit; but the calls of the Quaker and the
ferryman were appreciated more for the sympathy manifested than for
the offer of material aid. The Quakers stayed until long after
midnight. Catherine had been induced to lie down; and with the hand
of the good {55} Samaritan on her brow, had fallen asleep and
peacefully rested.
Kate's companion had exercised much the same influence upon her as
the Quaker mother had upon Mrs. Mulhall; and shortly after midnight
she also passed from consciousness to sweet slumber. The three
visitors then noiselessly withdrew, and deep silence fell upon the
camp. Catherine slept late and awakened calm, and reassured when she
found that Kate was up and preparing breakfast.
True to promise, on the following day the ferryman gave the Squire
his choice of three wagons and outfits; and before night he was ready
to cross the Missouri to the Indian Country, then extending across
the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean. Mulhall was confronted
with a perplexing situation--one team was now on the west side of the
river, and the other on the east or Iowa side. The hired man, who
shall be nameless, seemed to delight in using his long whip-lash on
the oxen, and goaded them to unnecessary exertion; and had proven
very unsatisfactory in other ways. His language was also offensive;
and when the Squire found that he had been indulging immoderately in
liquor, summarily discharged him.
Fortunately for Mulhall, at this juncture Douglas Craig, the young
man with the outfit presented to him by the ferryman, came highly
recommended and expressed a desire to continue on the trip; the
Squire immediately engaged him, and never had cause to {56} regret
it. As soon as Mulhall could move his camp to the landing, he
crossed over without much difficulty, leaving Ben to follow when he
could get the cattle up from the bottoms.
That night the campers heard the shrill whistle of a steamer from
down the river, and soon saw the lights of the "Ajax" as it moved
slowly up to the landing. A great throng greeted the captain as he
came ashore, and vociferously clamored to be ferried across the
river, with the promise of extra compensation if done that night. So
the occupation of the open-scow ferryman was gone, and the steamer
took its place; after that a hundred wagons with their teams were
crossed by day and nearly as many at night.
One can scarcely imagine the confusion that followed the congestion
on the one road leading, out from the landing place on the western
side of the river. Outfits had been separated and cattle gone
astray, children were separated from their parents, and thieving
Indians mingled with the throng. Mulhall soon brought together his
outfit (small as compared with some trains of fifty wagons) and drew
off to a nearby camping place.
He had been cautioned by the missionary not to join in the rush to
drive furiously forward, as others would certainly be doing. Kate
became very impatient at the delay of a day that her father
considered necessary to have everything in readiness. On the fourth
day they were confronted with a narrow {57} but deep river; and there
was another struggle to get across.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: USING A WAGON-BOX AS A "BOAT"]
Many of the Pioneers crossed the rivers on the Oregon Trail with all
of their outfits, except the oxen, in the manner shown by the
illustration. At best it was a hazardous adventure; at one place on
the North Platte nine men were drowned in making the attempt. The
author crossed the Snake River twice by this method and swam his
oxen; this photograph, taken in 1912 on the "Loup Fork," a tributary
of the Platte River in Nebraska, shows his improvised craft in the
middle of that great stream, and will convey some idea of the dangers
encountered by the emigration of which he was a part. See pages 57,
69-70 and 213.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The confusion was increased by many coming into camp every hour day
and night. Some were using a scow ferry entirely inadequate to
accommodate the great numbers suddenly brought upon the scene; others
were crossing on rafts, and still others in their boat-shaped
wagon-boxes. A few had constructed "bull boats" (a light form of
willow twigs, with a buffalo hide bottom).
Douglas Craig, the new man of the Mulhall outfit, proved to be an
expert horseman and an all-around stockman; he soon managed to get
the cattle over, while Ben crossed the wagons. An account of the
experiences and daily incidents of even one such outfit as Mulhall's
in its slow progress westward would fill a larger volume than this.
So we will attempt only to briefly sketch the trials confronting the
bold pioneers who passed over the Oregon Trail in the early days
before the rivers were bridged, supply depots established or
protection from the Indians given by the Government.
"What's that dark shade on the land?" Kate asked her father as she
rode up to his carriage. Mulhall turned his glass in the direction
indicated for a moment and replied, "Why as I live, that's buffalo."
In the clear atmosphere of the plains an object many miles away often
seems near-by. Kate was ready in an instant to go and bag some big
game, but knew her mother would not consent; so she called to Ben,
{58} "Take my rifle and Nell, and get one. I'll drive your team."
By this time the whole line on the road had discovered the herd, and
nearly all the men were making preparations to join in the big hunt.
Just ahead there seemed to be a great commotion, teams turning out of
the road and horsemen riding furiously back and forth. One, racing
down the line, shouted in a loud voice, "Unhitch, unhitch; form
corrals with your wagons; a buffalo stampede is coming. Quick,
quick; don't shoot, don't shoot;" and like Paul Revere, he passed on
to repeat the warning.
Mulhall had fallen in with several independent outfits and in the
evenings the group had been forming a circle of wagons to guard
against the loss of stock and lighten the burden of the night-watch.
In a very short time the wagons were arranged and the loose stock
placed inside the circle; but the buffalo were all traveling in one
direction on their annual migration, not a stampede. Nothing but
some insurmountable obstacle could turn the herd from the course that
its almost incredible numbers were pursuing.
In their migratory movements buffalo are, as one might say,
controlled by instinct like birds of the air. Here was a living
mass, to all appearances one vast unit, passing over many miles of
the trail, each animal traveling in the same direction as if guided
by a compass or the North Star. The emigrants could do no more than
guard their own stock and let {59} the buffalo continue their
majestic procession for hours.
After the mass had gone on and only stragglers remained in sight, the
ban against shooting was removed and an exciting buffalo hunt was on.
Ben followed Kate's suggestion by taking Nell and trying with his
rifle to bring down a fat buffalo cow. Not being either an expert
horseman or a crack shot, he had a rather prolonged and exciting
race; but finally succeeded in securing a fine heifer. He could have
more easily shot an old buffalo, as many did; but was out more to add
to their depleted larder than for the excitement of the chase.
When Ben returned to camp it was evident that he was in virtual
collapse, his strength nearly gone and his pulse weak. Thoroughly
alarmed, mother Mulhall did everything she could to arouse him from
the stupor into which he had fallen, but all to no purpose. Kate
fairly ran over to the near-by camp for a doctor, who partially
revived him but cautioned him to be careful and patient for several
days. When questioned, the physician answered evasively as to a
possible fatal result.
An epidemic of cholera was ravaging the camps and taking a fearful
toll; only the day before the Squire and Catherine halted the
carriage before a newly made burying-ground and counted forty-four
graves, none more than three days old. Only those in the best of
health seemed immune from the scourge. Mother Mulhall reproached
herself for consenting to {60} let Ben go on the hunt, and retired to
pray in secret for his recovery.
Kate showed unmistakable evidences of deep grief, and also blamed
herself for having encouraged Ben to go; she remained by his bedside
throughout the night, and was reluctant to leave when morning came.
As the day wore on there were signs of recovery, and by the third day
he had sufficiently improved to warrant resuming their journey.
Meantime more than a thousand wagons had passed on, leaving many
detained in stricken camps to bury their dead.
Mulhall had been a witness to the great epidemic that lined the trail
for a thousand miles with uncounted graves of dead pioneers. He had
lost considerable weight on the way; how much he did not know, but
realized the fact by the fit of his clothes. Catherine said the
difference in food had wrought the change, to which the Squire
responded that in such case he would probably lose in strength, while
he felt stronger than for many years before. The fact gradually
dawned upon him that the regular exercise taken on the trip had
increased his strength while reducing his weight.
Under the hot sun Kate became tanned, but lost none of the fire in
her eye nor her cheerfulness of spirit, although her patience was
often tried by the wilful ways of the loose stock. The two little
sisters helped her part of the time, until the sand became too hot
for their bare feet; but were always welcomed {61} in the carriage
driven by their mother. When Ben was transferred to the carriage,
their place of refuge was gone; after that one at a time would ride
behind Kate, or she would often trudge along afoot while the two
little ones rode Nell.
All the past glamour of the trip had now gone out of Kate's mind; but
she could not admit to herself any regret that they were on the way
to Oregon. At least they were free from the hated question of
slavery! Then her mind would revert to Pelton, with the thought that
she might have been too rash in her manner of rejecting his advances;
had she known what her father knew--that Isaac intended at all
hazards to free his slaves--grief would have seized her in spite of
all efforts to restrain it.
Kate had intuitively come to discern what was in her father's mind
with reference to Ben, and believed that her mother felt the same way
as her father. When such thought came into her own mind, the vision
of Pelton rose above them all. Love Ben? Yes--as a brother; and
then she would try to think of something else.
"What's this?" Squire Mulhall asked aloud rather excitedly to
himself, stopping his team in the middle of the road. Soon both
wagons were driven to the outside, opening a passage for other teams
pressing on from behind. "What's happened, stranger that you are
here by the roadside with no team?" It needed only a short time to
explain that the family had started across the plains with a {62}
neighbor who owned a team; but after some altercation, the neighbor
became abusive, stopped and hurriedly pitched the bedding and
clothing of the others out of the wagon, driving on with all the
provisions.
"How long since?" the Squire asked. "About two hours ago," the
stranger answered. "Put your things in my other wagon and let your
wife and children get in here until we reach camp tonight," said the
Squire, thoroughly aroused and with indignation manifest in his
voice. "Perhaps we will overtake the brute by nightfall."
The family consisted of husband and wife, both apparently honest and
intelligent, and three small children, the oldest about eight.
Leaving his team in charge of the stranger as soon as they were back
on the road (which was literally filled with passing wagons and loose
stock), he soon found Kate; and taking Nell, rode on ahead as rapidly
as possible.
He soon encountered a train of a dozen wagons which had no sooner
been passed than another one of thirty was overtaken; each vehicle
closely followed the one in front, and to make headway it was
necessary to ride alongside the road, often obstructed by sage-brush.
That evening the Squire said he believed that he had been obliged to
go around at least five hundred wagons to gain five miles on the
moving trains, all the while keeping a sharp lookout for the outfit
which abandoned the family now traveling with him.
It was learned that the culprit, who had been {63} recognized by the
description, passed on just before dark and would probably travel all
night. Three armed men were mounted and given instructions to
continue on far enough during the night to be sure they were ahead of
the outfit, and then to stop and wait for it. Just at daylight they
overtook the guilty party and soon convinced him that resistance was
useless and submission to arrest his only safe course.
The "unwritten law" of the plains was a tacit consent that all
grievances, misdemeanors or accusations of crime must be laid before
a jury of elderly men; and no one should take the law into his own
hands--in a word, no mob violence. Squire Mulhall soon succeeded in
bringing together several of the older pioneers, who resolved to take
immediate action; swift and adequate justice was administered, and
the incident was almost immediately closed. This code of action
prevailed all along the line; no one was punished without a hearing,
but there were no delays on technicalities, or any appeals.
Mulhall's trail followed the track that Marcus Whitman had made from
the west bank of the Missouri River nearly two decades before, when
that famous missionary was on the way to overtake the expedition of
the American Fur Company before it reached the Indian tribe reported
as hostile to white men passing through their country. It will be
recalled how Dr. Whitman swam the Platte where it was a mile wide,
and re-crossed with the cattle until nearly exhausted, while Mrs.
Whitman and {64} Mrs. Spalding were towed over in a frail bullboat by
two Indian women swimming, accompanied by Indian boys who assisted
them heroically.
On the sixth day out from this river, definite information was
received that a camp of thirty Indian lodges was disputing the right
of the emigrants to proceed farther without payment of toll for each
wagon. A number of outfits which had already refused to pay were
encamped there; Mulhall considered this a wise move until he could
reconnoiter and find out just how serious the situation was.
After the rumor of the obstruction had been confirmed the evening
before, the firing of a rifle startled the camp. Unobserved, Kate
had slipped out of the camp with her rifle; if there was going to be
trouble with the Indians, she would have a fresh load in it. The
next day, when her father had concluded to go ahead and ascertain the
facts about the detention, Kate said she would go along.
Mulhall had not thought of taking arms with him; but Kate noticed
that a number had gone forward carrying their guns, and said it was
better to be prepared. Catherine firmly approved the move, and added
that they would put the camp in best shape possible for defense.
Experienced pioneers all agree that the most retiring and apparently
timid women usually were the most courageous in times of danger on
the plains, whether from Indians or other causes.
Kate mounted Ned, bareback, while her father {65} rode Nell. It was
a ride of six miles past several camps and many teams standing in the
road; and hundreds of excited men were found at the point of
detention. The place chosen by the Indians was a small ravine where
a recent washout had been bridged by a train of emigrants that had
passed on sometime previous.
On the farther side the Indians were camped; most of the men were
mounted, but had not put on their war paint. They were intending to
dispute the crossing until payment was made for passing through their
country--a plausible claim, as the white man's government had made no
treaties with them.
Here the dilemma--whether to pay toll or force their way
through--confronted the responsible men of the emigrant column. Was
it just to force their way across the country if the Indians owned
it? What right had the white man to pass through it, kill their
buffalo, turn his oxen out on their range to eat off the grass, or to
burn the scant supply of fuel?
Many of the pioneers had never thought about this and were puzzled;
but when the Chief said, "One cow, one wagon," all saw instantly that
to submit meant the disintegration or even stopping of the whole
emigration. As that tribe did not claim to own the country farther
than to the next river crossing, a similar demand might be made again
and again.
While the improvised council was discussing this {66} question, there
was a great commotion. Many who did not go near the council had
driven their teams close to the disputed bridge-head, when one bold
pioneer spoke in a loud voice, "You fellows get ready to follow; I'm
going across that bridge if I have to run right over an Injun!" and
he did. The Indian narrowly escaped; other teams followed in quick
succession; the blockade was broken, and for the next twenty-four
hours, day or night, scarce a moment passed without a wagon on that
bridge.
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[Illustration: UNDER THE YOKE FOR THE FIRST TIME]
In their struggles to shake it off, Brindle and Star had reversed the
yoke, as described on page 38. Large numbers of cows were "broken"
like oxen, and in many instances helped to make up a "team." This
incident is recalled, half a century later, by the visit to the old
homestead in Missouri described on page 234.
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[1] See "The Missionary's Story," pages 235-283. E.M.
{67}